Free Murda - Make You Scream lyrics

[Intro: Free Murda] Yeah.. Free Murda, Brooklyn Uh-huh, what, check-two Uh-huh, mic check, three Uh-huh, check four, uh-huh [Free Murda] Dude like phony in the rear Dude, put zoconi in his ear, stogey and a beer Looking all loney on the stairs How long he said, only for a year, pony for a pair Of sneakers, millimeter left homey in a stare Lick forty in the air, for your whoodies in the chair Blocka, for n***as getting fed all proper And I got sh** locked like dreds on a rasta Get your sh** rocked, like hands on my pasta Soon, I'm the dude, leave you dead for the doctors Put them tools in you, in the bed, singing opera Put the ooze in you, for that bread and your locker [Chorus: Free Murda] He don't wanna beef no more He ain't with his peeps no more He ain't with his heat no more Wonder why, he ain't in the street no more It'll make you scream... You know that thing, make a n***a scream... You know that thing, make a n***a scream... You know them things, make a n***a scream... [Free Murda] Free put n***as straight out they misery, ape to your memory Behind a yellow tape is where ya'll men'll be Watch n***as shake like b**hes titties be, watch 'em lose Weight like Ricki Lake, from like ten of these You tryin' to rule, you don't wanna do that there I ain't try'nna lose like Tyson when he chewed that ear n***as fighting, but I'm shooting to tears, drip down Cheeks, get down, beef, see the fifth round, me? I ain't joking, I'm just hoping, you don't send a threat n***a I'm toting, leave ya'll smoking like a cigarette It ain't a n***a yet, prove that I'm chump Any n***a bet, I'm hype, when I'm shooting that pump Get slumped, try'nna get it crunk, like Lil' Jon You get bucked out the rental car You can stand and stare like you want beef We can do this fair and square like front teeth [Chorus] [Free Murda] Son played tough, that's how he had to get sniped I knew 'son day'll' come like it was Saturday night What goes around, comes around, so what you do when you get back I'mma be around, til I'm suited in jet black Hit rounds, til the ruger set back I'm aiming for ya crown, little shooters respect that Came to get it on, once that four's wrong Respect when your gun hot, but test it when it's warm Bang at your bird a** vest, to get it on Bang til your son at rep, move, then it's on Guess whose out here supplying the reefer And the only nine's he got is the size of sneakers I got cannons, the size of your speakers Look at shorty show his back, cuz school ties from the teacher Stop lying preacher, saying everything gon' be OK, must be high and lit up [Chorus]